


we can take the right way out of here

by AuroraWest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Lube, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Unwilling Incest, Whump, but not much comfort, but tbh who knows when this takes place, problematic content ahoy, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: “I’m getting impatient,” the Grandmaster said. “And you know, when I get impatient, I start thinking about all the—well, all the reallyunfortunatethings that happened while you two were on Sakaar. And when I think about that, sometimes Ialsoget to thinking, no one ever gotexecutedfor that…”Or, the Grandmaster gets what he wants. Loki and Thor find out the hard way.(for Grandthorki Day 2020)
Relationships: En Dwi Gast | Grandmaster/Loki/Thor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	we can take the right way out of here

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you read the tags. This fic is fucked up.

Their first mistake had been drinking anything that had been anywhere near the Grandmaster.

Their second was not inducing vomiting once they realized they had.

Their third…well.

Loki groggily raised his head. His eyes felt sticky, his head was spinning, and his neck felt too stalky to support the weight of his own skull. Their third might actually have been their first, which was not turning the other direction and running the minute they’d spotted the Grandmaster.

It had already been too late, Loki thought blearily. They’d already started drinking. The Grandmaster had drugged their drinks before they’d even seen him in the bar.

The world bobbed and dipped around him as he got a hand under his side and tried to raise himself into a sitting position. It worked, but his arm felt like it wasn’t connected to his body. Or like there was no connection between the nerves there and his brain. He felt queasy and closed his eyes. Vomiting would do him no good now. The damage was done.

Instead, he forced his eyes open and turned his head, though he almost had to grab it to try to force his whirling vision into something stationary enough for him to see. The nausea was making his mouth water and he swallowed once, then again, and clenched his teeth. He was in a small, nondescript room. Gray walls, gray floor. Something black running along the join of the wall and the ceiling. Loki squinted at it. A bar, regularly studded with metallic receptors.

Loki was sure he didn’t want to find out what it was. Or what it did.

Sliding his hand out to redistribute his weight, Loki attempted what felt like a difficult maneuver—take his other arm, twist it around to the other side of his body, and place it behind him so he could lean back and get a view of what was in the rest of the room.

He managed it, not without vertigo making his head spin again. But when his vision stilled enough for him to see straight, his heart sank.

Thor was there too.

Shit.

_Shit_.

Well, what? Had he been hoping that somehow Thor had gotten away? Loki wished he had. He wished Thor had punched his way out of the situation and left Loki to his fate. Perhaps he’d tried. It would have been hard to blame him. Loki wasn’t worth taking any kind of fall for.

“Thor,” Loki said. His voice came out raspy and he cleared his throat, then tried again, “Thor.”

His brother stirred. Loki rolled himself onto his hands and knees—it was a mistake; he gagged, but nothing came up—and crawled over to him. “Wake up,” Loki said, shaking his shoulder. Wake up and what? Wherever they were, whatever this was, there was no doubt in Loki’s mind that they were being watched. The faster both of them were conscious, the faster someone would appear to…to…

He didn’t know what, but he was almost certain that he knew _who_ was going to do it. They’d locked eyes across the bar, Thor and he already nearing the bottoms of their drinks, and the Grandmaster had smiled and waved. Was ‘smile’ even the right word for what the Grandmaster did? That promise of breezy, nonchalant cruelty, of depravity disguised as hedonism—it _wasn’t_ a smile, and yet Loki didn’t know what other word to use.

Loki’s stomach had knotted. He’d felt sick. Why couldn’t he have actually thrown up?

And now they were here. The Grandmaster had drugged their drinks, clearly. Had watched them, waited for them to order, tipped a vial or two or five into their drinks somehow. Loki remembered nothing about how they’d gotten here. He hoped it had been under their own power. It would be rather disappointing if the bar had allowed two unconscious men to be carried out by people they hadn’t been drinking with.

Of course, Loki couldn’t remember anything. Maybe they _had_ been drinking together. Who knew how much of the drug he’d been given.

An unpleasant thought occurred to him. Or what _other_ drugs he’d been given.

“Thor,” Loki tried again, shaking his brother harder. Thor’s eyes opened slowly. They looked cloudy, hazy. Loki wondered if Thor could even hear him. “ _Brother_ ,” he hissed. “You need to wake up.”

Thor’s eyes moved to Loki’s face, though he seemed unable to focus. “What…what’s going on?” Thor asked. His voice sounded thick. He was slurring his words. Did Loki sound like that, too?

Shaking his head, Loki said, “I don’t know.” Yes. He was slurring just as badly as Thor was. With effort, he tried to make his next words clearer. “Do you remember what happened in the bar?”

With a confused blink, Thor asked, “The bar?”

That wasn’t promising.

Loki’s hand was still on Thor’s shoulder. He thought about removing it. Then he didn’t. His stomach was knotted tightly with nerves, if not outright fear. Whatever they were going to face, neither of them was in any state to fight it. Still, this fear coiling through his gut was unbecoming of a prince of Asgard, even if there was good reason for it. Perhaps he’d blame his inability to fight the fear on the drugs, too.

Lowering his voice, Loki said, “The Grandmaster. I believe he may have spiked our drinks with…something…”

_Something._ A whole toxic cocktail of somethings. Loki was familiar with some of them from his time on Sakaar. Intimately familiar.

His own choice of words made him shudder.

“I remember drinking…” Thor said. Which was more than could be said for some of the times they’d drunk together of late. Ragnarok and all that followed had left a heavy burden. All too often, Thor weathered it by drinking. Loki weathered it by thinking about it as little as possible, which was his standard response to things that were too emotionally fraught to deal with.

He wasn’t all that _good_ at it. But he tried.

“Where are we?” Thor asked, looking around.

“I don’t know,” Loki replied, his voice low. “But I suspect it may be his ship.”

Putting a hand under himself, Thor tried to sit up. Loki helped him. Thor seemed to have been affected by the drugs more than Loki. Or perhaps the Grandmaster had given them different doses. That made unease prickle along the back of Loki’s neck, too.

There was a noise—a hiss, and a voice. “Oh good—good, good, you’re both awake. That’s great; that’s a _great_ sign.”

Loki twisted his head. His stomach, already not in great shape, did something that made it feel even worse, tightening and turning inside out. He stared at the Grandmaster, who smiled back. Loki’s fingers tightened around Thor’s shoulder.

Thor tried to sit up straighter. “What do _you_ want?” he asked, sounding more belligerent than Loki would have dared. Then again, the Grandmaster had only made Thor fight in his arena. Thor hadn’t been privy to any of the other…goings-on, on Sakaar. Lucky him.

There was no opportunity to make a run for the door. Loki’s limbs were beginning to obey him, but he simply didn’t have the strength to get to his feet, pull Thor to his, and get out the door before the Grandmaster reacted—and knowing the Grandmaster, he would do so in a way that was…unpleasant. Loki’s eyes flicked to the bar around the room’s ceiling.

“So… _wow._ Long time no see, huh? What a coincidence, us, uh, _running into_ each other here. Crazy, right? Oh—yeah, yeah, you can set that down right there.”

Someone had followed the Grandmaster into the room, which startled Loki. He hadn’t even noticed the door opening again. A man carrying a chaise lounge trundled into the center of the room, put the chaise down without looking at either Thor or Loki, and left again. The Grandmaster gave him a dainty little wave, then turned back to Loki and Thor, smiling.

Still smiling, he sat on the chaise, spreading his robes out around him, then clasping his hands in his lap, looking down at Loki and Thor. “So what’s new? You both look good. You look good, yeah, great, actually. Really great.”

With a grunt, Thor pushed himself to his knees, then his feet. “I’m not in the mood for smalltalk. I don’t know what the hel you think you’re doing here, but if you don’t open that door right now, you’re going to regret it.”

This speech would have been _slightly_ more threatening had Thor been on his feet. He was trying, Loki gave him that.

The Grandmaster tsked. “Now _now_ , Sparkles, language.” He wagged a finger. “There’s really—really no need for that.”

Thor heaved himself to his feet and the smile fell from the Grandmaster’s face. He reached into his sleeve, and suddenly Thor was on the floor again convulsing, eyes rolled back into his head and spittle foaming at his mouth.

Loki didn’t think. Baring his teeth, he reached for his knives with magic—

Only to find that the spell seemed to hit a wall of glass in his mind. He could feel his magic, but he couldn’t access it.

It didn’t matter. It reached for the hilt of his knife, but the Grandmaster said, “I wouldn’t. See, this is the first time I’ve been able to, you know, test drive this little baby. You like it? Kind of, um, _inspired,_ I guess you’d say, by my obedience discs.”

“Turn it off,” Loki snarled.

To Loki’s shock, the Grandmaster did it. Thor went still and Loki moved towards him, but then the Grandmaster said, “Wait a minute.”

Thor looked dead. The very last thing Loki wanted to do was _wait a minute._ But he did. There was a rustle of fabric behind him and he felt the Grandmaster’s presence. A hand brushed over the top of his head, then ghosted down the back of it, parting his hair and running along his neck. Loki tried not to shudder. “I meant it, Lo. You both look—mm, well, you both look good. But _you_ especially. Sweet, sweet freedom, am I right? I mean not that, you know, not that you weren’t _free_ when you were on Sakaar. You weren’t a _prisoner._ Right?”

Was this a serious question? Loki had been as much a prisoner on Sakaar as Thor had been. He’d just been good at telling himself he wasn’t.

“Anyway.” The Grandmaster’s fingers were still trailing up and down Loki’s neck, but Loki’s eyes were locked on Thor. Was his brother breathing? “ _Anyway,_ all that artificial gravity—you’re enjoying the ship, right? My ship? It agrees with you, I guess.”

“Grandmaster,” Loki said steadily, or as steadily as he could, which was not very, “what happened on Sakaar, I know it looked like I was betraying you, but it was—”

“Oh, shush, shush, shhh.”

Despite how the Grandmaster’s touch made Loki’s skin crawl, there was also something perversely—well, not _nice_ about it. Exciting was the word, perhaps, in a strictly physical way. He didn’t want it to be. The Grandmaster had drugs to heighten that urge. Loki was beginning to worry they’d been added to his drink, as well.

He wished his legs didn’t feel so shaky. Even though he wanted to get to his feet, even though he was telling himself to stand up, his body wouldn’t obey him.

This was how it had been on Sakaar. Go—or rather, be compelled to go—to a party. Have a drink, then another, then just one more. Wake up somewhere with no memory of how he’d gotten there. At first, the Grandmaster had been—apologetic. He hadn’t _realized_ Loki was so drunk, so high, that he didn’t know what he was doing. If anybody had known, of _course_ they wouldn’t have done those things with him.

Had Loki believed it? He’d wanted to. But then it had happened again. And again. There came a point when he woke up with someone’s cock inside him, his tongue inside a stranger’s pussy and someone—a man or woman or neither, he’d never even seen—riding him, and he had been ashamed, so utterly ashamed, of how hard he was, how it was his own moaning that he’d woken to. He’d been been ashamed to realize he must like it.

That time, when he’d come around, the person fucking him had started pounding harder. It had hurt. Loki had struggled. For his trouble, he was smacked, held down, and fucked harder. He’d come, and it had felt amazing, and that was the worst part of all.

He supposed he deserved it. He had been degraded in just about every other way one could be. Why not this way, too? And he’d always liked the pretend version of this. As a younger man, when he’d visited his preferred brothel in Asgard, he’d asked to be tied up, or held down, and he’d known if it had ever gotten out what he enjoyed, his father would be furious. Liking both men and women, fine. What Asgardian _hadn’t_ tried both? But what Loki enjoyed—authority, even humiliation—that wouldn’t have been acceptable for a prince of Asgard.

After that time, after waking up with three strangers fucking him in various ways, he had gone back to his quarters in the Grandmaster’s tower and tried to vomit. Nothing had come up. He’d told himself this shouldn’t be happening, but it was drowned out by the knowledge that _this was just the price he had to pay_. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to be up in the penthouse, not getting his brains splattered across the sand in the arena, then this was the price. It was just sex. He got off, didn’t he? So no matter how humiliating and degrading it was, there were worse things. At this point, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know what would happen at the parties. And he continued to go. He _chose_ to go. As long as he chose it, he was in control. It was fine.

Nothing was fine about what was happening now, though. Loki should have known that killing the Grandmaster was the only way to truly escape him. He’d never gotten around to trying. Well, Loki had found that he lived to regret most things.

The Grandmaster’s hands started working at the fastenings to Loki’s clothes in a way that suggested a deep familiarity with how to get them off. Loki couldn’t even remember being with him more than two or three times. How many times had it _actually_ been?

He jerked away, but without a word, the Grandmaster activated whatever device was set up in the room. Thor’s body convulsed again, and Loki froze, his stomach balled into a sick, heavy pit of iron.

“I know how much you _love_ your brother, Lo,” the Grandmaster said, his voice soothing in a way that made Loki feel ill. “Now’s your chance to prove it.”

Swallowing hard, Loki said, “You can do whatever you want to— _with_ me.” The Grandmaster liked to think, after all, that everyone was having _fun_. Loki was _letting_ himself be undressed.

And he was, wasn’t he? It wasn’t as though he was fighting.

Taking a breath, Loki added, “Whatever you want, Grandmaster.” He grit his teeth and forced himself to say, “I’ve missed this.”

Loki’s clothes came off one piece at a time, until he was undressed from the waist up. “I have _too_ ,” the Grandmaster purred. “I’ll tell you, I have too. There’s nobody quite like you—I mean, really. _Really._ You’re uh, well, you’re one-of-a-kind.”

Funny. This was the way Loki had always wanted to feel. One-of-a-kind. Special. Now he had it—and it was from the worst possible source.

Did he need to respond? The Grandmaster was running his hands over Loki’s bare shoulders, across his chest. Then, he moved around Loki, kneeling in front of him. Twirling a strand of Loki’s hair around a finger, the Grandmaster said, “ _Any_ way, it’s really sweet, the whole, uh, the sacrifice thing? The take-me-instead schtick, it’s like, um, it’s really noble. Touching. But see, when I say you’re going to get a chance to prove you love your brother, that’s not really what I _mean_.”

Something was wrong with Loki’s hearing. Everything went silent, though he could still see the Grandmaster’s mouth moving. No, no no no nonono. He had a feeling, a very bad feeling, that he knew what the Grandmaster _meant_.

“I don’t…” Loki said.

The Grandmaster stroked his face. “You don’t love him?”

“Not—like that,” Loki said. _Please please_ please _not like that_. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Thor was moving. Thank the Norns. He was trying to push himself upright, shaking his head as though trying to clear it.

“Maybe you just need to give it a try.” The Grandmaster’s hand slid down Loki’s chest, circling a nipple, then tugged at the opening to his pants. “Let’s get these off, hm? I think—I mean, wouldn’t it just be more _comfortable?_ I want you to be comfortable.”

“Can’t we just—” Loki began.

“Shhh.” Suddenly there was a finger over his lips, which then slipped into his mouth, despite Loki’s attempt to keep it out. The Grandmaster leaned forward and kissed him, tongue following his finger, which was now hooked over Loki’s teeth, pulling his jaw down, forcing his mouth open. His gag reflex started but he forced it down, knowing that if _this_ was getting to him, it would only result in him making the Grandmaster upset later. The Grandmaster’s tongue stroked his, running along his teeth. Then, without warning, he bit down on Loki’s lip hard, hard enough that Loki tasted blood.

He couldn’t help it. He made a noise, a twisted off sort of whimper. He knew better than to show that kind of weakness in front of the Grandmaster.

The fingers withdrew from his mouth and ran in a slow line down his chin and his throat, smearing a line of his own saliva. The Grandmaster stroked his throat, then wrapped a hand around it. Not squeezing. Just suggesting that he could.

Suddenly, he pulled back, tutting. “Didn’t I say to get these pants off? Here, I’ll do it for you. The drugs _can_ make you forgetful, which can be fun, right?”

Loki made a noise that the Grandmaster would read as agreement, if he was even paying attention. By this time, he had Loki’s pants undone and was pushing them over his hips. Loki closed his eyes.

“Now now, come on—I want you to look at me. That’s it.” There was a finger under his chin when Loki opened his eyes and looked into the Grandmaster’s. “You really _did_ miss this, didn’t you, Lo?”

Hadn’t he already said he did? But the Grandmaster wanted him to repeat it. He opened his mouth to do so, but nothing came out. The God of Lies didn’t want to lie. Imagine that. If lying would have made this better, he would have. But he didn’t have any illusions that anything was going to make this better.

“Get your hands off him,” Thor said, finally regaining his senses and staggering to his feet. Thor never gave up. He never stopped fighting.

There was a gleam in the Grandmaster’s eyes. “Now, Lord of Thunder, we already—we already _did_ that. Well, plan B I guess; if hurting _you_ doesn’t have any effect—”

He keyed something and suddenly Loki was being ripped to shreds, agony tearing through him, white hot knives sawing every inch of his body apart, flaying him, dismembering him, his brain splitting his skull open—

Faintly, he thought he could hear someone yelling, “Stop! You bastard, stop—”

And then, as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone. Loki realized he was on his back, his chest heaving. Saliva trailed down his chin in a line and he tried to wipe it away, but his arm and hand wouldn’t obey him.

There was a sigh. “Now, now, you’re all _messy_ , aren’t you? My little invention has some side effects. I call it—what do I call it? Oh, right, right, my Asgardian obedience room. See the obedience discs are great and all, but then I thought—hey, wouldn’t it be great if I could just put someone in a room and get the same thing?”

To be honest, the obedience discs sounded like less work.

“And see, that’s what I _mean_ ,” the Grandmaster went on. “Side effects. Takes a second for the victim—victim? No, no. I don’t like that word. _Victim_. That makes this all sound not very _nice_ , doesn’t it? The recipient, how about that? It takes a second for the _recipient_ of the beam to recover.”

“I’m going to rip your fucking tongue out of your head,” Thor said, his voice shaking with rage.

Loki opened his eyes to find the Grandmaster standing over him. “Now, that looks awkward,” he said, his eyes very definitely _not_ on Loki’s face. Kneeling down, he pulled Loki’s pants the rest of the way off, leaving him naked. “Mm, mm,” the Grandmaster said. “Delicious.”

Loki wanted to die.

His touch light, the Grandmaster ran a finger up the inside of Loki’s leg, slowing once he got to his thigh. Loki had never been less aroused in his life, but to his shame, when the Grandmaster’s finger arrived so close to his limp cock, he felt it stir.

Perhaps it was drugs. Perhaps it wasn’t. In the end, Loki wasn’t sure it mattered.

“Look at that,” the Grandmaster said, looking at Thor. “No harm done. Right as rain.” His fingers brushed over Loki’s soft penis and it responded immediately, stiffening. The Grandmaster chuckled. “You weren’t kidding, Lo, you _did_ miss this.”

No. He hadn’t. But his body seemed determined to make a liar out of him.

The Grandmaster crooked a finger and said, “Come here, Lord of Thunder.”

Even though Loki couldn’t see Thor, he could picture the look on his face. Anger, confusion, a dawning horror. “Why?” Thor asked.

“Well, as I was _saying_ ,” the Grandmaster said, as though they were discussing his latest trip to Hala, “Lo _clearly_ loves you very much, and I just think—well I want him to be able to _show_ you how much.”

“Loki doesn’t need to do anything to show me he loves me,” Thor said. There was an undercurrent of panic in his tone and Loki closed his eyes. So Thor understood what was about to happen. He didn’t know if that made this better or worse.

The Grandmaster’s hand closed around Loki’s dick, which was hardening quickly. Why was he just lying here? Why was he allowing this to happen to him? Why wasn’t he _fighting?_

Because there was no fighting their way out of this.

_Or maybe_ , part of his mind whispered, _because you deserve this._

_Maybe you even want this_.

He didn’t want this.

_No? You don’t want to be shamed? You don’t want to be treated like the filth you are?_

“I don’t _want_ to hurt our lovely little Lo here, but I will. If I have to, I will.”

There was a shuffling sound, and then footsteps that stopped close to his head. He could feel Thor standing there, though he still had his eyes closed.

The Grandmaster’s thumb found his slit and Loki felt slickness smear. His hips bucked, despite his best intent, and heat flooded through his gut, to his crotch and the rest of the way down his legs to his toes, sluicing like a thick wave through him. His body, aided by whatever the Grandmaster had given him, finally betrayed him. His cock came fully hard, erect and throbbing in the Grandmaster’s grip. A tiny moan escaped him and he squeezed his eyes further shut. Perhaps if he kept them closed tightly enough, he could will all of this away.

“Why don’t you get more _comfortable_ , Sparkles?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Aw, but why? I like it. And you know, I’m—well, pretty obvious I guess, I’m used to getting what I want.” The Grandmaster’s grip got tighter and Loki jerked. “Just take it off. Let’s see all those rippling muscles. You know, in all their glory.”

There was a silence, but then the sound of Thor slowly removing his armor, setting it down on the floor. The _whump_ of leather followed.

“Mm, mm mm. You two _really_ haven’t done this before? I don’t know how you could _resist_ each other.”

Though Loki _really_ didn’t dare to open his eyes right now, with his naked brother standing over him, he almost let out a hysterical laugh at this. This was insane. The Grandmaster was insane. He knew this, but somehow it hadn’t really hit him until this moment, this horrible moment where he’d just been told, really told, what the Grandmaster had planned for them.

_You two really haven’t done this before?_

Loki’s breath was coming faster as the Grandmaster touched him. “Kneel down, Lord of Thunder. Come on. That’s it. Let’s get poor Lo up off the floor, he looks so—so un _comfortable_. Are you uncomfortable, Lo?”

Was he really expected to answer this question?

There was a pause. Then, he felt Thor’s hands under his arms, gingerly lifting his shoulders off the cold deck. He opened his eyes and could see Thor nowhere in his field of vision, which meant his brother was standing as far back from him as possible. The Grandmaster wasn’t going to allow that.

And indeed, the next thing out of the Grandmaster’s mouth was, “Oh, don’t be like that. Come closer.” His other hand cupped Loki’s balls and squeezed, which felt good, so good at first, but then he kept squeezing until Loki’s hands scrabbled at the deck in an attempt to pull himself away.

“Stop hurting him,” Thor snarled.

“Maybe you should show me how it’s done,” the Grandmaster said silkily.

“I don’t—” Thor began.

The Grandmaster squeezed harder and Loki cried out, sweat springing to his forehead.

Suddenly, Thor was right behind him, Loki’s back to his chest as his brother held him close. “Stop it,” Thor said.

The pressure abated and Loki relaxed. Sort of relaxed. There was no way to relax and the Grandmaster’s hand was still stroking him. It felt good. Loki hated that it felt good. He hated even more that he _wanted_ more. The burning knot of desire and need in his belly was dragging at him dully, making his head throb.

And then, the Grandmaster stopped. Loki’s eyes snapped to him as he pulled his hand away. _Please,_ he almost said. _Please don’t stop_.

The Grandmaster was smiling. With a gesture to Thor, he said, “Your turn.”

Behind Loki, Thor’s breathing stopped. “My turn?” he asked, sounding dumbfounded.

“Mm.” The Grandmaster licked his lips. “It would be easier if you put your legs on either side of him. You know, that way you can really—really reach.” When Thor did nothing, the Grandmaster looked disappointed. “Now, you don’t want me to have to hurt him again, do you?”

There was a long, long pause. It felt like an eternity. Loki’s cock was throbbing. He wanted someone to touch him, and for one horrible fraction of a second the thought slipped through his mind that he didn’t care who it was. But then a coherent part of his brain kicked out a fogged up window, and he stuttered out, “Thor, you don’t have to—”

He felt Thor swallow hard. “I can’t let him hurt you.”

“He’s doing this to hurt us,” Loki said. At least, he thought he did. Maybe he only thought it. No one reacted, so perhaps the drugs had wrestled him back into his place and kept him silent.

“I’m getting impatient,” the Grandmaster said. “And you know, when I get impatient, I start thinking about all the—well, all the really _unfortunate_ things that happened while you two were on Sakaar. And when I think about that, sometimes I _also_ get to thinking, no one ever got _executed_ for that…” His eyes focused on Loki in a way that would be impossible for Thor to mistake. “I can’t really kill the King of Asgard, but his brother? Maybe no one will miss him as much.”

There was a growl deep in Thor’s throat, but slowly, he shifted so that his crotch was up against Loki’s arse and his legs bracketed Loki’s hips. The minute their bodies met, Loki felt something stiffening at his back. He wanted to throw up.

Neither of them could control this. It was drugs. Just drugs. They didn’t want this, they’d never wanted this.

Did it matter right now, though?

Thor’s hand slipped under Loki’s arm and gingerly touched his dick. Immediately, Loki’s body spasmed, fire ripping through him. “I think he likes it,” the Grandmaster said. “Why don’t you give him a little more of that?”

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispered, his voice already sounding hazier than it had before.

Loki focused every single bit of his energy and concentration into responding, “It’s going to get so much worse.”

Thor’s fingers closed fully around Loki’s cock and he pumped his hand slowly. There was no mistaking that Thor was getting hard, too, and as he kept touching Loki, Loki felt him pushing into his back. The worst possible thought that had ever crossed his mind wormed its way in, which was that he wanted to crawl onto his knees and feel it inside him instead of against the bottom of his spine.

Had he wanted to die before? Because he wanted to so much more now.

The Grandmaster watched this. Then, he sat down on the chaise in the center of the room, undoing his robe at the front and pushing it aside. He opened his pants. He was already hard. Loki could see fluid glistening on the head of his cock, but then he had to close his eyes as Thor’s touch made him almost moan. He bit it back, only just. Bad enough that his body was betraying him; he wouldn’t allow his voice to, as well.

Spreading his legs and leaning back against the chaise, the Grandmaster licked his lips and lazily began touching himself. Maybe Loki was wrong. Maybe this was it. This was bad, this was terrible, but if this was the extent of what they had to endure, then Loki would count them lucky.

The Grandmaster smiled and said, “Why don’t you two come over here?”

Why did he even think these things?

Thor pulled his hand away, breathing heavily. Neither of them moved. The Grandmaster looked disappointed. “Don’t make me ask again.” When they still didn’t move, he sighed and tapped a communicator on his shoulder. “Bring the Melt Stick in, would you? The new one. Yeah, the new one, let’s see what it can do.”

There was another pause, and then Thor made a strangled sound, the kind of sound Loki had never, ever heard his brother make. “He’ll kill you,” Thor said.

“I don’t care,” Loki replied.

Thor sounded like he was going to cry. “I do.”

Once Thor had decided he was going somewhere, there wasn’t much Loki could do to stop him. And so even though it was the last place he wanted to be, Loki found himself on his knees in front of the Grandmaster, the Grandmaster’s hands on the side of his head, fingers digging into his skull.

“I’ve been thinking about—mm—thinking about fucking that pretty mouth of yours ever since Sakaar,” the Grandmaster said.

Loki just grit his teeth and clenched his fists. His strength had returned, at least. Not that it was going to do him any good. If he fought, the melt stick would be brought out. The new one, which was, no doubt, somehow even more horrible.

Shifting forward, the Grandmaster said, “Hands and knees, Lo. I think you’re going to like this.”

“Grandmaster,” Loki said weakly. “I think it would be better if I just…just concentrated on you…”

The Grandmaster twisted his fingers hard in Loki’s hair, forcing his head back. Loki swallowed and the Grandmaster smiled. “That’s really—really sweet. But I’m just thinking of _you_ , Lo.” With his other hand, he patted Loki’s cheek. “You and that brother of yours.”

Oh gods.

Leaning down, the Grandmaster grabbed Loki’s jaw, forcing it open so he could slip his tongue back inside Loki’s mouth. “Hands and knees,” he repeated.

Loki did as he was told, and before he had a chance to prepare himself, the Grandmaster yanked him forward by the hair, ramming his cock into Loki’s mouth. He gagged as the head hit the back of his throat, his stomach heaving, but the Grandmaster didn’t move.

“You used to be good at this, Lo. C’mon. I know you still know how to take it.” He pulled Loki’s face closer, fucking him down the throat, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax. “Mm,” the Grandmaster sighed. “Yeah. There you go. That’s my Lo.” Loki tried to breathe through his nose, feeling saliva leaking out of his mouth as the Grandmaster rocked his hips harder, his cock choking Loki. “You used to do something with your tongue, didn’t you? I’m sure I remember—ah, that was it.”

There was a contented sigh above him. Then, the Grandmaster said, “Get in there, Sparkles.”

He didn’t even stop fucking Loki’s mouth as he said it, so Loki had no choice but to keep sucking him off. But Thor stammered, “I don’t—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, sure you do. Don’t be coy.” The Grandmaster paused to really ram his cock down Loki’s throat. “I want you to—you know. Make the beast with two backs. Do the nasty. Dip the wick. If you don’t—” The Grandmaster paused, and Loki desperately tried to catch his breath. “Then I’ll do it for you. With the melt stick.”

There was another silence.

Then Loki felt Thor’s hands on his hips. He couldn’t even protest. Maybe that was the point.

“Don’t I need…” Thor’s voice sounded strangled again. “I need something to…make it…go in easier.”

“Oh, nonsense. Lo likes it rough. Can’t you tell?” He laughed. “Just spread him as wide as you can. Open him up.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Loki truly didn’t know what would be worse—being raped to death by the melt stick, or getting fucked by his brother. But in the end, he knew Thor wouldn’t let the Grandmaster kill him.

That wasn’t exactly comforting.

Thor’s hands moved from his hips to his arse and spread him, and then Loki felt his cock at his opening. As the Grandmaster resumed fucking him down the throat, he let out a throaty growl and said, “Don’t make him wait for it.” He craned his head to one side, then added, “ _Lo_. I’ve never seen you this hard before.”

He hadn’t wanted the reminder, but as Thor began pushing slowly into him, Loki’s cock spasmed and he couldn’t help it, he let out a moan around the Grandmaster, muffled and filthy sounding. He was dry, Thor was unlubed, and it hurt, it hurt, but it felt horribly good at the same time as Thor pushed further and further in. Loki knew Thor was trying to be gentle, which a distant part of his mind noted meant Thor knew what he was doing, that he had probably been with men before, which wasn’t surprising but was still something Loki hadn’t known.

Another moan slipped out as Thor kept pushing. Loki’s fingers curled, his nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to like this. But it felt good. Damn his stupid body. Damn his stupid, fucking, traitorous body, because he was panting now, his brain begging _more more more_ as Thor finally bottomed out. Hands moved from his arse back to his hips and Thor gave a tiny groan.

Loki tried to make his mind go somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. He’d been drugged, thirty minutes ago he’d been unconscious, but whatever drug had done _that_ had long worn off, leaving him with whatever the Grandmaster had given him that was making his body scream for release—and which was keeping him very much grounded in the moment.

His jaw hurt from keeping his mouth open for the Grandmaster’s cock. But all he could think about was the horrible fact that he wanted to get fucked. Unfortunately, it was his brother who had his cock buried in Loki’s arse.

The Grandmaster didn’t even have to tell Thor to do something. Of course he didn’t. The drug that was making Loki ache would be doing the same to Thor. So his brother started moving, his cock rubbing painfully in Loki’s dry arse. Loki moaned again, his hips bucking as he tried to grind himself back; he hated this, he hated himself, but fuck he wanted it, he needed someone to fuck him. Thor’s fingers dug into his hips and Loki tried to pretend it was someone else behind him, some nameless, faceless person, one of the many who he’d let fuck him on Sakaar. He hadn’t cared, they hadn’t mattered, he’d rather have any of them than his brother who he loved, and who would never look at him the same way again, not after this.

That thought made him want to cry. His face felt wet, but maybe that was just his own spit leaking out of his mouth, smearing up from the Grandmaster’s cock. Thor was fucking him harder now, moaning himself, clutching at Loki, and the Grandmaster was making little noises too, and this was the worst moment of his life but his body was screaming with pleasure.

The Grandmaster came suddenly, a hot, wet explosion that filled Loki’s throat and mouth and made him choke, and he couldn’t breathe because the man kept fucking him. Tsking, the Grandmaster said, “Look at that, what a mess—isn’t he a mess? Open your eyes, Sparkles, look at your brother; I really think you should see this.”

The Grandmaster pulled Loki’s head back by his hair and drew in and out of him in long, slow strokes, his dick somehow still hard. He’d probably taken some kind of drug too. “Pretty, right?” he said admiringly.

At this, Thor hissed something, then let out a cry, and he drove himself into Loki as he came.

The Grandmaster let go of Loki’s head, pulled his cock out of his mouth, and stood up from the chaise. Loki just let his head fall forward. “There, wasn’t that nice for everyone? Oh—Lo, no one took care of _you!_ Well, we can’t have that, can we? No, no no—” Going around behind Thor, he pried one of Thor’s hands from Loki’s hip and guided it to Loki’s cock. “Just like before. He deserves a reward for being such a good boy. Real champ, this one.”

Loki felt Thor swallow, but he jerked Loki off, and Loki was ashamed of the cry he let out when he came.

Patting his head, the Grandmaster said, “You can say thank you later. I’m going to freshen up. You two feel free to go again, if you want to.” The door hissed open, then shut. Loki didn’t watch the Grandmaster go.

There was a grunt behind him, then an exhalation of breath as Thor pulled out, then stood. Yes, he’d want to get as far away from Loki as he could. Loki couldn’t blame him. He wanted to get as far away from himself as possible, too. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of an avenue for that. 

Loki sat back, his legs folded under him. His arse ached. Cum was slicked across his thighs, running down the sides of his legs slowly. He couldn’t stop staring at it.

Behind him, Thor was getting dressed. Loki knew he should pull his own clothes on, but the idea of moving seemed untenable. What was the point? Was there any greater shame than what had just happened?

The drugs had worn off—perhaps orgasm had been the only means for it—and Loki felt cold. Cold and sick, and as though he was staring at his own actions through a glass pane. What had just happened could not have happened. And yet, it had.

The room was dead silent except for a low, distant machinery hum. If there were on the Grandmaster’s ship, did that mean it was traveling through space? How would they escape?

It was too exhausting to think about escape. It was too exhausting to think about anything.

There was a sound behind him, and slowly, Thor came around and perched on the chaise, not where the Grandmaster had been sitting, but off to the side. He was holding Loki’s clothes, looking like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Are you…” he began, then swallowed and asked in a soft voice. “Are you alright?”

Loki finally raised a hand to his face. His cheeks and chin were covered in saliva and cum. “Am I _alright?_ ” he asked, feeling the urge to laugh hysterically rising in him.

“Yes,” Thor said, still quiet. “I didn’t…I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His tone was strangled by the end of this.

The answer couldn’t be anything but _yes_. There would be more pain when Loki moved—and blood. What he could feel leaking out of him doubtless included blood. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “I’ll be fine.”

Thor’s hands clenched around Loki’s clothes, but Loki didn’t dare lift his eyes to his brother’s face. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth? The _truth?_ He had just had sex with his brother, _that_ was the truth. He’d had sex with his brother and while he had hated it, he also _hadn’t_ hated it, and he would remember that, he would _remember that_ , that horrible, abhorrent fact, for the rest of his life.

He was loathsome. That was something he’d known since he’d found out what he truly was in Asgard’s weapons vault—but he had never felt it quite so viscerally as he had in this moment.

“That _is_ the truth,” Loki said, his voice low. “What doesn’t kill me, et cetera, et cetera.” The very last thing he wanted to do was inform Thor that he _had_ , in the past, been hurt due to…overly exuberant fucking. Because that required him to compare experiences. That other time, and this time, when his brother had fucked him, and it hadn’t hurt as much—

Loki wanted to gag. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, then another. The nausea ebbed, just barely.

“Loki,” Thor said. His voice sounded tight, like it might break. “I need to know you’re going to be alright.”

No. Yes? Had he _ever_ been alright? Maybe this was just a matter of being less alright. Why did he feel like he was going to laugh? Loki opened his mouth—and that was what came out. Laughter. High, hysterical laughter, which he couldn’t bite back, couldn’t stop, until he physically stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle it.

Opening his jaw that wide made it ache. And that made him want to cry.

“Please get dressed,” Thor said, sounding…frightened. No. That couldn’t possibly be right. Thor wasn’t frightened. Thor wasn’t frightened of _anything_ , and that was both what Loki loved and hated about him. But there was fear in his voice, fear and helplessness. Of all the times Loki had allowed madness to take him, _this_ was what frightened Thor?

Maybe Loki shouldn’t have been surprised. Every other time, Loki had played the villain. He’d played the villain because the very last thing he wanted to play was the victim. Thor could be angry at the villain. It was much harder to be angry at the victim—though Loki had honed it to a fine, razor sharp point. In his own mind, he’d been perpetually the victim, and there was no one he was angrier at himself.

Thor thrust Loki’s clothes at him. “Please,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”

Ah. That was it. Of course. Thor would replace horror with action—he would _do_ something, and then he wouldn’t have to think about the other thing he’d done.

“The door will be locked,” Loki said tonelessly. He took his clothes though, covering himself with them, gingerly getting to his feet, and turning away to get dressed. This felt ridiculous, but it was some small semblance of control. In this moment, he could control who saw him.

There was nothing to clean himself up with, though. The Grandmaster had done _that_ on purpose. He used his underwear to wipe himself off, his stomach turning as he felt the slickness against his skin once he pulled them on.

“Then I’ll break it down,” Thor said.

It was a struggle not to laugh, but with effort, Loki shoved the urge away. “Just like Sakaar,” Loki said, the laughter fading from his voice. Everything turned sour in his mouth. He tasted bile.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me what happened on Sakaar?” Thor asked. Was that _resentment_ in his voice?

Loki fastened his pants, then his shirt and the leather jerkin he wore over it. It hurt to move, but he refused to show it. “ _Why_ ,” he asked, “would I tell you want happened on Sakaar?”

There was a silence. Loki still felt as though he was alternating between hysterical laugher and hysterical sobbing, and the pendulum kept swinging more wildly.

“Because,” Thor said, but he trailed off, seeming not to know the end of this sentence.

Loki waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. With a slow exhale, a futile attempt to maintain control over himself, Loki put his palms flat on his thighs. They were trembling—his hands—though now that he though about it, he realized his entire body was shaking. He hoped Thor hadn’t noticed.

The pain between his legs radiated up through his stomach, down through his thighs and knees, and it made him angry, because he wanted to ignore it; he just wanted to ignore all of this, ignore that it had happened, push it to the back of his mind, lock it away, because how else did they go on? How else did either of them go on from this moment? No, Loki hadn’t told Thor about Sakaar, just like Loki had never told Thor _any_ of the terrible things he’d been through, because how could he have gone on if he’d told someone else? Telling someone else made it real, gave it life, and he couldn’t control the narrative if he handed it over to someone else.

But Thor was part of this narrative. _Thor was part of this narrative_ and it made Loki want to vomit again. And there was the pain, and the dampness of his underwear, because he’d had to wipe his brother’s cum off himself—

Loki’s stomach rebelled. Making it to the corner was out of the question, but at least he managed a few steps away from Thor; at least he managed not to vomit all over his own boots.

The remnants of his last drink came up, sour and stinging, mixed with ropes of the Grandmaster’s cum. Opening his eyes was a mistake. The sight of this made him heave again, and again, until there was nothing but foamy, thin bile.

His stomach ached now, both from vomiting and the fucking. And suddenly, his throat caught, a hook snagged behind his sternum and yanked, and he sobbed.

Vomit caught in his throat. Mid-sob, he choked on it. Somehow, he was on his knees, coughing and gagging, and his face felt wet, which he mistook for sweat.

Hands tugged at him gently and he wanted to pull away, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t draw in enough breath to do either. His knees seemed bolted to the floor, heavier than gravity, but the tug on his arms was stronger. He didn’t rise to his feet, but stayed kneeling, his body upright, as arms went around him and pulled him close.

“I’m sorry,” Thor’s voice said. He sounded desolate. “He threatened to kill you. I’m sorry.”

The urge to scream clawed at him, but Loki no longer felt in control of his own body. He could no more scream than get to his feet. Still, he wanted to demand, _You’re sorry?_ You’re _sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?_

The wetness on his face wasn’t sweat. It was tears. Loki was crying.

He couldn’t believe Thor could stand to get this close to him. That after what had happened, his brother could stand to put his hands on Loki, to embrace him, as though nothing had changed, as though they hadn’t been made to—as though things were _normal_ , whatever that meant for them; their relationship had been fraught but was getting better, but how did they come back from this? How did they move past this?

There were no answers. Loki needed answers, because answers meant he could exert some modicum of control over things; he could put things in their place, edge around them if need be. For the God of Chaos, he was shockingly bad at dealing with the chaos that raged inside him. Or perhaps it was the opposite—perhaps he was good at it, since he was still here.

He didn’t feel good at it right now. He just wanted to be gone. It was remarkably similar to the feeling he’d had when he’d let go of Gungnir and fallen into the Void—not wanting to be dead, not exactly. Just…not wanting to be _here._ Or anywhere.

But unlike that day on the Bifrost, this time, Thor held onto him. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to fall.

“I let it happen,” Loki finally choked out, his voice hitching. “I didn’t fight—I never fought—”

“Don’t,” Thor said fiercely, holding Loki tighter. It made Loki want to push him away, to stab him. It made him want to cling to Thor and never let go. _I deserved it_ , he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

There _was_ no coming back. Not from this.

And yet.

And yet, they _would_ come back from it, because they could do nothing else. Because Thor was holding on, and Loki couldn’t bring himself to let go. No. Loki didn’t _want_ to let go.

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t fought, Loki,” Thor said. “But even if you hadn’t, that doesn’t mean you _deserve—_ no one deserves that. Whatever happened on Sakaar—whatever happened before Sakaar—no one deserves that.”

Loki didn’t believe this. He wasn’t even sure Thor believed this. But his brother was saying it, and that gave Loki the strength to draw in a deep breath. It was shaky, but it steadied him. “So what now?” Loki asked.

Thor touched a hand to the back of Loki’s head briefly, then moved it to his shoulder, which he squeezed. They stayed that way for another moment, and then Thor drew back to look Loki in the eyes. Thor was looking at him like nothing had changed.

“Now,” Thor said, “we get the hel out of here.”

Pain still radiated through Loki. There would be no forgetting. Fine. Maybe he couldn’t forget.

But he could fight.


End file.
